


Still Alive

by Aerine



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Angst, F/M, SMUT IS COMIN NEXT YALL LMAOOO, Spoilers, lmao what else is new I love angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerine/pseuds/Aerine
Summary: "Unlike him, you didn’t deserve anyone with the heart to put you back together."





	Still Alive

Fear—a word that proved too powerful for any human or android to understand. The shivering of one’s bones or the trembling of one’s fingertips left those polarized in an attempt to fight or flight… it was a formidable wall that you somehow dared to cross. You climbed out of your bed fit for just a simple, destitute individual, throwing that silk comforter aside knowing that it would be the last time you would ever feel as secure. Your arm flung back to swing open the door to your apartment, boots stepping past the threshold in a world that didn’t know you were of use; your gaze lingered on androids that no one but you desired to comprehend, quirks hardly beyond their programming reminding you of why you chose to pursue a career where everyone at your office spread childish rumors about you and questioned your existence at the Detroit City Police Department.

With your fist stretching at the skin of your cheek, elbow resting on a charcoal yet translucent desk dirtied with lines of white scratch marks and carved in phrases—with a knife, no less, so obviously they liked you—spelling out _‘android sympathizer’_ or _‘fuck you’,_ normally you would have shrugged your shoulders and blew out the longest suffering sigh you could upon your new desk except the words were followed with a, _‘Gavin was here’_. Not only were you forced to continue working on your desk, one pile of reports and papers that were none of your concern sitting at the corner of your furniture, you were _obligated_ to unscrew the spiral of your notebook holding your files of androids working with you together to use the edge to cross out his name and replace it with your own. The paragraphs littering your computer screen would have been nothing but gibberish if the spirit of Gavin Reed remained in your room, and by God you would have called an exterminator if it meant the rat was out of your office for good.

Unease, you were sure the feeling prickled at your skin upon your first meeting with the police officer; his stature towered above you and a smirk was tugged on his full lips as you coughed out your reason for being at the department. Arms wrapped around your figure, you were in no hurry to come to the realization that, because you were a psychologist fixated on the behavior of androids, your career was never meant to mesh with a personality built on the hatred of them. In fact, you remained naïve to the mutter under his breath or the refusal to heed your input on any Deviant—androids with the ability to feel as humans do, although you wondered why none of their hands were wrapped around Reed’s neck with the treatment they received from him—and waved off whatever disappointment that accompanied such a bully until an android by the name of Connor pulled the leather seat across from your desk back and his gaze met your own for the first time.

Upon his thirteenth time of visiting your office—ever the attentive one, he counted—you were far past throwing your life away for some police officer, especially when one call to Detroit’s representatives would have solidified your superiority against him. Like his past appearances, Connor’s fingers were intertwined with the others as his eyes followed the rapid click of the black keys on your keyboard abused by your fingernails. His knees were mere centimeters away from the other, ever still with his thought processes focusing on just you. His coffee brown irises became lost behind his eyelids before finding themselves in the splatters of rain upon your window, then at you, then steadily into a sea of nothingness as he effortlessly blinked and opened his eyes to a changing city.

“You’re not due for a visit, Connor,” you chided, “and you’re staring again. That’s weird.”

Your name fell from his lips in an apology. “Captain Fowler and Lieutenant Anderson agree I should—”

”Screw off?” Shaking your head, your grin complemented the frown that formed upon his lips.

“Well, yes. They also believed it would benefit my relationship with humans if I took the time to get to know you, considering your career.”

Squinting your eyes, your hands halted their assault on your keyboard as you directed a furrowed brow at your coworker. Lips pursed, you swallowed the urge to mention that neither of them could care less of Connor’s adaptations to human behavior, and that no one in this office showed any interest in your relationship with him. As puzzled as you were, the android was ever persistent, his behind nearly at the edge of his seat as if he wasn’t confident of the probability stacked against you. The odds were in his favor, as you were a pushover in need of deviancy. Also, you could hardly reject someone wanting to know more about the world, especially one with you in it.

His first question: “Do you own a dog?”

“Do I— What do _you_ think?”

“Fair enough. What is your middle name?”

“… Connor.”

“How about this one? What day were you born?”

The questions snatched your attention away from the work ahead of you, enticing your gaze towards the tilt of Connor’s head as you grew weary of such questions… even if you answered none of them. One lingering glance your way could have answered all of them, remedying the curiosity that existed through no means of wonder, yet he sat idle in your office to waste your time and his. If you ceased to respond to him, there would be no repercussions; there was always the thought that his code caused him to never relent in his search for the truth, yet no relationships or feelings would be affected if you did. What being sat before you lived with no consequences because he would die and return from CyberLife with merely his body a token of what he used to be. Whose mind were you in the process of examining if every inch of it belonged to a company of people fueled by capitalism and technology, rather than an individual taking claim of their own thoughts?

Your name left him in a plight to drag you towards reality. “Do you… Do you believe that machines should have the capability to love, to feel?” Connor shook his head. “Damn it, perhaps I should have worded that more efficiently.”

The hesitance in his choice of words resulted in your arms to cross over the other, feet pressed into the floors so your back could recline your beloved computer chair into a more comfortable position. His question was undoubtedly one that fueled your way of being, yet the presence of this android interrupted whatever intelligible thought that could reach your lips before you said something you desired not to believe. The scent of fresh rain trailing down leaves of varying colors beyond the cracks of your windows crawled into your nostrils in an attempt to pull whatever train of thought you could possibly muster. However, the only semblance of sanity within you was accompanied simply with the call of his name, “Connor.” The summarization of your thoughts awaited what would follow when you found and retained his attention, yet all you wanted out of him was for him to find the answer to that question somewhere else.

Connor was a man who deserved to feel everything; he remained oblivious to the tensions growing between androids and humans, preferring to work with the latter to capture those who threatened his survival and his being. He drifted in a cause that wasn’t his own, and was a man driven by his superiors forcing him into a mission from which he could not escape from. His gaze fell on you for longer than necessary with no ulterior motives behind it, just a sea of questioning and nonsense that you could only fear living. Connor felt nothing and prepared himself for the unknown; unlike him, those with blood that stained like red feared the unknown. Humans would become brave despite desperate odds, finding the courage to pull through even if the thought of failing terrified them.

The answer to his question did not come; your response festered into something that elicited bumps trailing across your skin. You were born with the essentials for survival, grown to equip such tools to allow you to live a life free from broken hearts and coffins. Therefore, it was an instinct within you to fear death itself, to hesitate on the path towards it, since it was a fact instilled in humans that they _had_ to live long enough to make a lasting impression on others. Perhaps that was why Connor’s life meant so little in the world; a Deviant’s curl of his finger resulted in a gunshot destroying his LED and state of mind, except everyone in the interrogation room that witnessed his death pushed what memories involved him aside so quickly… a peek into the bullet hole at the center of his head proved how minuscule and pathetic this body was compared to everyone else. Connor had no choice in how to live his life but humans had the choice: to leave behind nothing but photos and personal belongings with remnants of a soul still attached or to live with the intention to remain despite living in the same mundane cycle that allowed security yet an unconscious dissatisfaction with the world.

“I… I don’t know.”

That was the difference between you and Connor, your imprint was left on the world the moment you stepped into the office of Elijah Kamski’s pride and livelihood; your actions were reckless and foolish yet somehow they brought you a plaque with your name on it. Your hard work allowed you a degree to adapt on an Earth that finally valued humans yet disrespected how special they were. If Connor failed to find the source of the rise of Deviants over the past month—his mission, one that conflicted with his people yet pushed him to perform such despicable acts in line with those who lived and _breathed_ —he would remain unaware of how significant his actions were in the case. His creators would take his memories and his existence from him, prodding at traces of people like you or Lieutenant Anderson in his being as they saw fit to snatch a life that just began.

Now, of course androids should learn what it meant to feel, or to love; sometimes you found it difficult to bring yourself from such stupors. How much more bearable would life be if you found someone to spend it with, to overcome its trials with? How extraordinary would it be if those unlucky enough to never become lost or confused were given the ability to find a partner that, no matter what, they would search for them and ensure that they remained _found_? What was an android’s life it they were all content with never moving forward or backwards—just being? Who were you to belong to a race that held onto such emotions, one selfish enough to think that the thought of wanting more was an idea that only belonged to them?

You _allowed_ this.

You sat idle as androids like Connor were reduced to nothing, and for what?

Perhaps this was the path to insanity; you had never desired to venture on this road or wanted to lose yourself in the most pathetic way possible. How ironic was it that you could never cope when the world proved too great for you? This must be terror, this shivering in your bones—terror that Connor would one day make one mistake that perhaps wasn’t his, and that the only imprint of his left in the Detroit City Police Department would be his fading fingerprints on your desk. Maybe his fingers would sink into the material over your shoulders as he attempted to pull you from oblivion, your name hanging in the air as you remained unresponsive to a man who, unlike you, could one day never be fixed.

Unlike him, you didn’t deserve anyone with the heart to put you back together.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment, if you can :)


End file.
